Chess
by Foosemittee
Summary: The story of the Cheshire cat, only in different terms. Is everyone in this story completely mad? Furthermore, ...AM I?
1. Chessie, ColdBlooded Killer?

_"What have you done?" is never really a question. If "Chessie, my god, what have you __**done**__?" were really a question, Mere would expect an answer. She never waits for a reply, when asking what I've done. This is good because usually I'm the last person to know. _

_ "Chessie, how could you?" I don't know. I don't even remember doing whatever it is, so how am I supposed to answer the questions directed at me?_

_ "Dammit Chess, when is this going to stop?" When's __**what**__ going to stop? My murderous rampage of which I was previously unaware due to selective memory?_

_ …Oh, right. That. _

…

Emily Chester woke once again with blood on her hands. As usual, the blood was not her own. Cursing, she managed to get into a standing position without slipping in the pool of red. She backed up against the wall, her wet hands sliding on the cool marble.

"Morning, Chess," a voice called from across the marble hall.

"What have you done?" Chessie gasped, staring at her own bloody handprints.

"What have _you_ done?" he shot back, and she could hear the smirk with which the retort was delivered. "I don't see any Maddox-sized handprints around here. Come to think of it, I don't see any proof that I was ever here." Maddox stepped into the light. The elegant ballroom suited him. He fit in, with his dark hair and Victorian-era clothing. Blinking back tears, Chessie slid to the floor with her back against the wall, her guilty hands stretched out, shaking, in front of her. She was wearing her favorite jeans, sneakers, and the typical summer tank top. She didn't belong.

"Who?" she asked, looking up with blurry eyes.

"Someone of little consequence. Now get up and 'wash this filthy witness from thy hand', as a friend of mine would say." Maddox was suddenly standing over her, looming and obvious like a burning building.

"I hate it here," Chessie sobbed, burying her face in her hands. Seconds later, with a single shriek she was on her feet. Her face was streaked with not only tears but blood.

"Let's leave, then," Maddox replied, ignoring her hysteria. "Take my hand." Chessie's world darkened and faded to grey.

…

"She seems absolutely convinced that when she sleeps, some terrible being uses her soul to do terrible things." The young baron smiled. "The girl is obviously quite troubled."

"Emily is a very stable young lady," Mrs. Chester replied primly, straightening her bonnet. "She is troubled, yes, but by nightmares, that's all." Maddox Harper gave her a knowing glance.

"Nightmares have been known to drive people mad, Madam."

"Not my daughter," the older woman insisted stubbornly. "I assure you, she is anything but mad." In a slightly offended huff, Mrs. Chester swept out of the Baron's study.

"Anything but mad," the man sighed. Then, with a none-too-pleasant grin, he added "Not if I can help it."

…


	2. Emily Chester, Victorian Lady

…

Emily walked down the darkened hall. From the kitchen came the sounds of servants busily going about their business. From the library, an echoing silence.

"I know you're here," she whispered to the empty hall.

"Emily?" her mother called from the parlor. "Is that you?"

"I'll be with you in a moment, Mother," Chess…no, Emily called over her shoulder as she slowly pushed open the stately door. Carefully tucking a strand of long brown hair behind her ear, she leaned in, peering behind the door. The library was empty…but on the desk, atop the family Bible, lay a black top hat. Slamming the door, Emily sprinted to the parlor, sliding on the thin soles of her black boots. Her mother glared.

"Emily, we have a guest," she growled, managing to admonish Emily without outright scolding her. Emily performed a hasty curtsey for the purpose of politeness, not even looking at the purple silk armchair which just happened to be occupied.

"It's always a pleasure to see you, Miss Chester," the silky voice intoned, and the girl froze. She couldn't even turn to look.

"Mr. Harper," Emily acknowledged in a small, frightened voice.

"Ma'am," he replied, smiling in that oh-so-maddening way.

"Mother, would you be so kind as to leave Mr. Harper and I alone for a moment of private conversation?" Emily asked, turning to the matronly figure on the couch.

"Alone?" Her mother stared at her in shock.

"Mother. It's a new decade." Emily reminded her, acting as if she was a normal young woman, intending to get a few minutes of time to flirt with her handsome and _normal_ beau. Grumbling about impropriety, her mother stayed put. However, with a look from Maddox, she realized that he would naturally take offence if she were to insinuate that he wasn't to be trusted. Clucking to herself like a bewildered hen, Mrs. Chester stood and exited the room.

"Scandalous of you, Chess," Maddox said quietly.

"What do you want? Why are you following me?" she asked in a desperate whisper, hoping her mother wouldn't hear.

"My dear," Maddox replied in mock surprise, "I haven't the slightest idea what you're speaking of. You must be mad." He reached out an took her hand. Emily flinched.

"Whatever you intend for me, I insist that you get it done with," she hissed, pulling away. "If you mean to drive me mad…"

"I have," Maddox interrupted.

"I'm not quite so far gone," Emily murmured, looking around worriedly.

"My dear," Maddox chuckled, "this place is a figment of your imagination. Right now, you are sitting in a bedroom in America. I meant to drive you to insanity, and I have succeeded." Emily looked up at him with bright, fearful eyes.

"Now I suppose you're going to kill me."

"What, and spoil all the fun…?" Maddox grinned. "Not a chance."

…


	3. Chess and Madd

…

Chess was cold. She felt as if her entire being had been doused with a deadly bucket of liquid nitrogen. Rolling over, she could see her bedroom floor. Somehow, she'd managed to roll under her bed during the night. The icy Montana temperature of fifteen degrees made sleeping without blankets impossible; yet, somehow, she was just lying under her bed, blanketless, in pajama shorts and an overly large tee shirt.

"Chess, there's bacon in the kitchen," her mother called from downstairs. Chess rolled onto her stomach and crawled out from under the bed, army style. On the way out, her foot kicked something that had been pushed up against the wall. Chess turned, peering into the darkness. Standing proud and tall beneath her bed was a black top hat. A scrap of paper had been hastily stuffed into the band around it.

"No freaking way," Chess growled. If she was dreaming, then the dream was starting to get a little long…and predictable. She stared at the hat for a while, then quickly slid back and grabbed it. Sneezing from the copious amount of dust bunnies, Chess lifted herself off the ground and joined the waking world.

…

Maddox Harper stood outside the Chester house. It stood on the corner of Wander Road and Landon Avenue. Behind it stood a dark and stately forest. Decades ago, the house had been the first of a neighborhood; however, the contractors hired to build the suburban houses stopped after the first one, due to unusable land. The house itself had cracking foundation and a leaky old roof.

"Sorry I'm late," Chess called, running down the front steps. She threw her backpack into the back seat of his car before sitting down in the passenger seat. Maddox slammed the door behind her before getting behind the wheel. "It's freezing in here," Chess muttered, seeing her words turn to steam on the windows.

"If you're going to be late, I'm not going to waste gas by leaving the car on. If you want to be warm, you should get up on time." They suffered the rest of the way to school in silence.

Madd Harper was known for silence. The teachers called him a wild card, as if he were some sort of magic Rubix cube that could change at any moment. He drove Chess to school each day in the same unvarying routine that they'd had since he got his license. After Chess' brother had died, it had seemed to Chess that Madd was decent to her because of his guilt. Adam Chester had fallen from a tree when he was twelve years old. Chess had been ten, and she had been standing at a mere twenty feet away. Later she told the police that Maddox had been standing with her, that he had been nowhere near the tree at the time of the accident.

…

"You really shouldn't drink," Chess grumbled, lifting an empty bottle of scotch up to the light. The setting sun that shone through the amber liquid at the bottom sent golden reflections over the worn boards of the old tree house.

"It's not mine, it's Madd's," Adam protested. Chess rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, it's Madd's," she replied. "You just borrowed some."

"Shut up," Adam growled, leaning out the window. "I think he's here. Go check and see if that's him, over by those trees." Ever the dutiful younger sister, Chessie climbed down the tree and set off towards the clump of trees. The hideout was deep in the forest behind Chess' house, and it had been a few weeks since her brother had started to let her hang out with him and Maddox. As she was walking over to the trees, a human blur sped by her. She turned and saw Madd making his way up the trunk to the tree house, which had no ladder. Ladders, Adam had declared, were for pansies. He was just the sort of person who would say that, neglecting to mention the fact that his father had told him not to take the ladder they had in their garage.

"Madd, wait!" Chessie called, racing towards the tree, which was no small distance away. Suddenly, Chessie heard a crack. The world came to a standstill. Even the birds ceased their song. No movement came from the tree house.

Under the trapdoor, there stood a narrow rock, shaped like a wedge, just tall enough to be a proper stepping stone. Adam and Madd had used it to hoist themselves up onto the nearest thick branch, from which they could climb the branches like a ladder until they reached their hideout. It was a very hard, sharp rock. Slipping on it had caused more than a few skinned knees, but never before had it broken a neck.

By the time Chess reached him, Adam was as dead as the rock beneath him. His eyes were wide open, his head tilted back at an unnatural angle. Chess looked up through the open trapdoor. Maddox's wide blue eyes met hers.

"Madd…" Chess gasped, still in shock. He pointed towards the tall brown grass. Still speechless, he was pointing at an albino rabbit, standing tall on its hind legs and watching them with its blood-red eyes.

…

Chess suffered through her morning classes, which were math and English. Both teachers thought she was mentally challenged and didn't deserve to be there. Both of them picked favorite students, and Chess wasn't on the list. The class favorite in math was Dinah March, and in English it was Alexandra Little. Alex and Dinah were both blonde, tan, rich, and popular. Unlike most of the other students, Alex and Dinah were part of a clique of teenagers who only lived in Montana because there was more room for mansions. They attended public school merely due to the convenience of doing so. Chess hated them. During lunch, as she sat with a few of her friends, she heard the usual hush in the lunchroom which meant that Maddox was walking in. Every female head in the cafeteria turned in unison as the tall, lanky figure strolled through the line.

"Doesn't he just _belong_ up in the front?" Dinah sighed, fingering her gold 'D' pendant as she stared in admiration.

"You're just saying that because you're interested in his back," Alex muttered, rolling her eyes. Madd was a football player, so he was technically part of their group, but he didn't socialize much. Unfortunately, that just made him mysterious, and therefore more attractive. Alex, however, was dating the captain of the varsity basketball team.

"There's no shame in liking the way he wears his jeans," Dinah replied primly, sitting up a little straighter. A few tables away, Chess glared sullenly.

…

Snow-laden trees slid by, blurring together in a sea of green and white as the car sped up. Chess sat staring out the window.

"Do you know Dinah March?" she asked suddenly, turning to look at Maddox. His eyes never left the road.

"I guess so. Why?" he asked cautiously.

"Do you think she's pretty?" Madd glanced at her quickly before once again focusing on his driving.

"I don't know." He frowned. "Should I?"

"No…I don't… Never mind. I was just asking." Chess turned back towards the window.

"Do _you_?" Madd asked, looking at her again.

"What?"

"Think she's pretty?"

"I guess." Chess mumbled. "She's not my type…you know, being female and all that." She closed her eyes for a minute, wondering just how awkward the lopsided conversation was likely to get. They reached Chess' house, and she jumped out and tugged her backpack out of the trunk before trudging up the steps to her front door. Behind her, she heard a honk. Startled, she dropped the backpack and turned around. Madd was casually watching her. The car was idling in the driveway. Chess took a slow step towards the car, leaving her backpack on the front step. Nothing happened, and without a second thought, Chess walked back to the car, opened the door, and got in.

…


	4. The Cheshire Cat and the Mad Hatter

…

The Cheshire cat sits in the accustomed place. It lurks in a tree, hidden, barely there. The Mad Hatter is in his garden as usual, limited to the space behind the white picket fence. They are in a staring match, you see, and neither of them has blinked for hundreds of years. Once someone heard it say that everyone was mad. Everyone knows, of course, that 'everyone' in this context must exclude the cat; cats are immune to madness. No whole cat has ever been less than fully aware. Yet, the staring match goes on. Does the cat dare to look away, as cats are wont to do, and forfeit? Does the man have the sense to know if and when he has won, or what the odds are of such a thing occurring?

Somewhere once upon an idea, Chess is driving into the woods with Madd, and she may never return.

Somewhere, Emily Chester is either smiling at the satisfaction of having driven the baron away, or she is locked in a private asylum, whispering her tale to the whitewashed walls.

In a way, somewhere Chessie is summoning the courage to plunge a knife into the chest of the man who haunts her dreams.

The Cheshire cat and the Mad Hatter are at a standstill. They are waiting.

Someone blinks.


End file.
